Accidental Sherlock
by mrsfaithwinchester
Summary: Carrie is late for her only job interview in weeks, and just happens to slam smack into a dark, sharp tongued man whom she instantly dislikes. Little does she know she's met the infamous Sherlock Holmes, until her friend Molly Hooper drags to one of the small parties thrown by Holmes and Watson. It's there they both find they have more in common than not. Until Carrie goes missing.
1. Chapter 1

Accidental Sherlock

Carrie called out for the cab just as the light flicked off.

"YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" She yelled at the man who opened a book and pointed up at the off duty sign. What an ASS! She desperately looked down at her watch. She had exactly ten minutes to get roughly ten blocks away. She wasn't going to make it. Of course the one job interview she'd managed to grab since she arrived in England and she wouldn't even be on time. What a way to make an impression! She ran her fingers through her shockingly red hair before bending down to take off the heels aching her feet. She would have to run.

She stepped off the curb and darted across the road, ignoring the possibilities of what her stocking feet were stepping in, and hoping she wouldn't contract some kind of fungus. She pushed her way through a crowd surrounding a street performer into a small coffee shop district. Just as she rounded a corner she smacked face first into a rather tall man. She was knocked aside onto her backside and her bag flung open. Papers and pencils, day planner, and other woman necessities flew out and scattered around the sidewalk. Now she would never make it to the interview. She might have to rethink about the move to England.

"Excuse you," A sharp voice said from above her. She looked up to find a rather dark looking man. He was extraordinarily tall, and thin. She blushed furiously as she scattered to gather her things. He stooped down to begrudgingly help her, his sharp eyes sweeping the assortment of items on the sidewalk. Carrie had just reached out to snatch her day planner when the man's hand wrapped around it. She stared at his translucent skin, and the branching of the beautiful blue blood veins. He held the book out to her and their eyes met. She was taken aback by the vastness of them. Indeed they were sharp and observant, but they were soft on the outsides, framed with dark long lashes, and the color of unlike anything on earth. They appeared to move and change with each blink, as if they were stars in the sky, super novas changing positions and glowing brightly in the sky.

"I asked you if you were injured." He said.

"No! I'm sorry. I'm fine! Are you alright? I didn't mean to bump into you!" She said finally snapping back into reality. She then could once again stand and shove the crumpled papers into her dust covered bag.

"Well, you sort of slammed into me actually, and yes I appear to be in excellent health. Perhaps next time you leave for an interview you should leave a few minutes early, than running in the streets like a mad woman." He said clearing his throat. Her face recoiled in a face of offense. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, crooked smile. She was baffled by his blunt words, and how on earth he could of guessed her intentions of where she was running to.

"I assure you that the most unexpected things have happened to me today sir, things no one could predict." She said bitterly. She had indeed come across an accident blocking the major intersection leading to the quickest route to the office, a hobo had attacked her leg begging for spare change, and of course the rude cab driver.

"Sherlock! There you are!" A short, friendly faced man said jogging up to the scene. The tall sharp man turned to look at his companion and glanced over at the quiet woman. She bent down to pick up a few stray pencils she had missed that rolled under a small plant, while the men turned to talk.

"You, would you like some help?" The friendly looking of the two offered with a smile. She looked up and snapped her mouth shut as the sharp man answered for her.

"She's nearly finished John." He replied.

"Sherlock! Her knee is bleeding." John replied shooting a glare at him. John walked over and offered a hand to help her from the ground.

"It's just a scrape. I _slammed_, into your friend here." The woman said looking at the dark man.

"Not a problem, I do hope he wasn't rude, he can be at times." John replied.

"Not at all." She smiled making eye contact with the man, shooting daggers. She could see a flash of guilt pass over his eyes, but soon disappeared.

"Shocking." Sherlock said smiling his cheekbones shadowing in the morning overcast. He was a rather handsome man, which many women had declared so in the past, but his attitude always seemed to be his downfall. Shockingly he thought to himself, this woman wasn't repulsed as quite like the others.

"Now I know you are lying." John muttered handing over a pen he found.

"I insist, it was my fault. He had good reason to scold me." She smiled small. John backed away with a smile.

He was a foot shorter than his friend Sherlock. Everything about the man radiated friendliness and softness. He was round faced, with short blond hair that hung into his hazel eyes. The pair were smartly dressed for a London morning, Sherlock was fitted in a white dress shirt with the top two buttons loose, and a black blazer, complete with a large trench coat and navy scarf. John who stood to his right was dressed in khaki dress pants, white dress shirt, and a tan waistcoat. Over his arm he had a tweed jacket and a black folded umbrella.

"We must be off John. I have places to be." Sherlock said bitterly, observing Carrie.

"I'm sorry." John whispered as they passed by.

Well this morning was certainly interesting, she thought to herself.

Carrie had forgot about the encounter completely, until her friend approached her about a party being hosted at a Mr. Sherlock Holmes's flat. There of course could be a number of people living in London with the name of Sherlock, but from the very descriptive description Molly Hooper had provided her new friend, Carrie was almost sure it was not a mere coincidence.

"Molly, I don't think your friend will enjoy me being there. I ran into him the other day and he was not very pleased about my intrusion." She confessed.

"Oh, he's always like that Carrie! He's really a sweet sweet man. Brilliant too! You should see him solve one of his cases! If only all men were like Sherlock Holmes." She said over the phone. Carrie chuckled and shook her head. Thank god they weren't.

"Welcome! Welcome!" A frail older woman greeted the girls at the door.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Molly said embracing the woman in her arms. Carrie stood aside smiling and shook the woman's hand when introduced. There was a beautiful string of Mozart coming from the upstairs and suddenly her spirits lifted. Mrs. Hudson led the girls up a narrow staircase to a small set of rooms above the main house.

"I'm sure, John and Sherlock will be delighted to see you." Mrs. Hudson said as we ascended the steep stairs. John perhaps would be delighted, as for Sherlock she couldn't help but feel a gnawing pit of nerves settling in her stomach. Would his harsh words be repeated today?

"Sherlock, John! Molly and her friend Carrie are here!" Mrs. Hudson said walking into a small sitting room. There standing near the front window was a square shouldered Sherlock Holmes, shockingly holding a beautiful violin in his hands, long pale fingers gliding up and down the neck of the piece. John broke out in a smile and greeted Molly and her guest with warm handshakes and awkward hugs.

"Good evening." Sherlock said from his position at the window. He didn't turn from the panes, instead held his gaze down to the street below. Surely he had seen the women arrive and was deliberating the simplest way of informing her of how much of a klutz she was. Carrie was lead to a small sofa near the fireplace and Sherlock once again took up playing a complicated piece upon his violin.

"Sherlock, you do play oh so beautifully." Molly offered over the crescendos and decrescendos of his piece. Sherlock ignored the compliment and continued on as if nothing had been said.

"So Carrie, what do you do for a living?" John asked. The playing stopped and Sherlock whirled around on his heel and made eye contact with the now frightened red head.

"She's a journalist John." Sherlock said his deep eyes searching her face. Carrie smiled small and nodded.

"Indeed."

"How in the deuce would you know that?" John asked.

"Surely you've begun to figure out my deductions by now John. I observe, I think, I collect data, and form deductions." Sherlock said taking a drink of tea from a cup on the fireplace mantle ledge.

"Sherlock, not all of us are brilliant like you, more information would be welcomed." Mrs. Hudson said giving him a pointed look. The corner of Sherlock's lips lifted again in a heart breaking devious crooked smile.

"Please do." Carrie requested.

"Your nails are cut short instead of long suggesting that you frequently do a job that long nails would get in the way of. The sleeves of your business jacket you had on the other day was worn to the elbows suggesting you sat at a desk for long periods of time. Combining these two observations I concluded you must be of some sort of employment of typing or working at a desk in which you used your hands. Further upon helping you gather your things I noticed you had multiple newspapers collected from London, none from the same day but all sharing a common characteristic which was that the editor's name which is often found printed on the front page was circled in red ink, suggesting that you are searching for employment. A secretary is a common practice for a woman your age, but since you had the papers in your bag I began to believe you a journalist. In addition you carried with you in your bag a good number of pens, pencils, small note pads, and a little camera. This is when I really concluded that you are indeed a journalist, since a journalist never knows when their next story shall spring upon them." Sherlock said.

"All that from short nails and bits of paper?" John said.

"It was really simple." Sherlock said shaking his head as if surprised by the lack of observation in John.

"You are fascinating." Molly sighed from beside Carrie.

"I must say that was rather creepy." Carrie chuckled. Sherlock turned, hiding a smile on his face from the rest of the room. Successful once again. "Tell me Mr. Holmes. What else can you see about me?" He turned back and studied the woman. She was beautiful, undoubtedly but that was something that was never needed in the process of deduction or science. She had long fiery red hair that hung in large ringlet curls to the middle of her back, and freckles that arched across her small, dainty nose. Sherlock snapped out of his daze and began to observe. He could clearly see the pen marks on her right hand, the smudge of ink along the outside of her palm. _Right handed, and working on a project._ Her accent was foreign, American actually and from the tone of her voice and the pronunciation of her vowels _from the Midwest region, Ohio or Michigan_. She _sunburned easily_ even in cloudy overcast of London. In her coat pocket which hung off the back of the couch he could see a tourist booklet commonly found on many newsstands dotting London's streets. She _hadn't been in the city long_, she still needed a map to get around. He squinted at her eyes, they seemed to contain a secret... something that not even the great Sherlock Holmes could unravel.

"You are American, from the Midwest region of either Ohio or Michigan," He began eying her. She smiled politely and nodded, "You are currently working on a project with pen, blue ink... right handed." He continued, pausing for the confirmation which he received, "You sun burn easily even in the overcast of London, which is a city that you have not been in long due to the pocket sized atlas in your coat, meaning you still need a map to get around." He said smiling smugly.

"Perfect." She said nodding once.

"You astound me." Molly said grinning. Carrie glanced over at the eager girl and debated on having a talk with her about her forwardness with Sherlock later.

"You seem to know a great deal about me Mr. Holmes with only one look." Carrie said taking a drink of water.

"It's an observant look." He smiled before facing the window once again. She had to admit, the little smug grin upon his pale face suited him, and made her curious to learn more about this mysterious man.

"ALRIGHT! I HAVE ONE!" John slurred hoisting up his cup of brandy, "When Sherlock and I were solving that case last month, you know that one with the dodgy fellow and pompous ass of a son. What was his name?"

"Harrison." Sherlock said softly from his seat watching the festivities.

"YEAH! That's the one!" John said laughing, we had to wait for him to stop chuckling to tell the story, "Well, we were running from the gate keeper right? And pompous Harridan fool what ever his face was got his foot stuck in a drainage pipe!" John laughed, Molly started laughing as John stood up on his chair wobbling, clearly far in his cups than one would want to be when standing on a tipsy chair, and began to act out Harrison's struggle of freeing his foot. Sherlock rolled his eyes and fingered his violin but made no noise. His eyes glanced to the window and Carried watched him. His jaw clenched and eyes closed. Thinking... always thinking, it seemed. Carrie glanced around at the filled coffee table and decided to refill my glass of water. She cleared the table of empty cups and dishes and walked to adjoining kitchen, placing the cups and dishware in the sink.

She ran the tap for quite some time to get the coldest water and took a gulp of it at the sink. Behind her from the other room she could hear roars of laughter as John let out a growl.

"I promise he normally is not a drinker." A smooth voice said behind her. She jumped the cup clattering into the sink and Sherlock reached out and caught the dish soap before it fell to the floor.

"I'm sorry." She confessed laughing softly.

"Not at all. John says I tend to sneak up on people." Sherlock said placing the soap back on the counter and reaching for a mug.

"John's interesting." She chuckled as they looked back into the living room and seen him making large windmill motions with his arms, bouncing on the seat of the chair.

"He's drunk." Sherlock chuckled pouring a cup of coffee and motioning to her, before grabbing her a mug.

"All the same he's lucky to have you and friends like this." Carrie smiled.

"John is my only friend." Sherlock said leaning back against the counter and taking a drink.

"Friend?"

"Yes friend."

Oh... It was the twenty-first century two men could share an apartment together without being gay Carrie thought to herself, chuckling over the silly mistake.

"I assumed..."

"It's fine, many people assume the same." Sherlock said drinking from the mug.

"Well, that's good, I was worried about breaking Molly's heart tonight." Carrie laughed. Sherlock sent a quizzical look and Carrie was surprised. For someone who observes a great many things, he obviously had not observed Molly's attempts of love at him.

"Mr. Holmes, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"Why observe?"

"Why not? Do you know what the common eyes misses? I can tell you stories about people just by looking at them, where they are from, where they've been, what they do." He whispered to her.

"But Mr. Holmes..."

"Please, call me Sherlock."

"Sherlock, wouldn't it be nicer to meet these people? Talk to them, learn their stories from themselves?"

"It would take a great deal more time, and the major information would be clouded with emotions and frivolous details. Why waste my time or theirs on simple things when there are larger matters?" He asked.

"It's the little things that tell you the most about a person Mr. Holmes."

"No."

"Oh, like pen smudges and pocket sized travel guides tell you more about me then, perhaps me telling you I enjoy reading classic novels on Thursdays, and came to England on a whim and a broke bank account. The pen marks on my hands cannot tell you the type of writer I am, though the broke bank account and the fact I read novels on Thursdays instead of weekends shows that I am a failing writer." She whispered looking into his now soft eyes.

"Indeed."

There was a large crash in the living room that rattled the plates and glasses in the cupboards and made the small chandelier over the table sway and quake. Sherlock and Carrie dashed back into the living room to find a rather stunned John Watson laying on his backside, feet in the air, with his chair tipped off to the side of the room. Mrs. Hudson and Molly, who were also tipsy, were besides themselves with laughter. Molly had tears streaming down her face from laughing so hard. Carrie glanced over at Sherlock who gave her another infamous crooked smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Carrie's cellphone rang at an ungodly hour, waking her from a wonderful dream.

"Hello?"

"How fast can you make it to Hyde Park?" A cool smooth voice asked over the phone. Carrie sat up and itched the side of her head. She pulled the phone from her ear to check the caller ID to see if her ear was hearing correctly. There in the glowing light was Sherlock Holmes.

"I live a couple minutes away, why?" She asked drowsy.

"Wonderful, meet me at the site of Tyburn Gallows!" The line went dead. She stared at the phone in confusion and dug out the guidebook Sherlock had pointed out at the party two weeks ago.

_Tyburn Gallows were a place for public executions in London as early as 1196 and ended in 1783. Originally Tyburn was a villiage, home to Gilbert de Sandford, whom was famous for being contracted to draw water from Tyburn Springs and pump it as the first piped water supply in London. Tyburn's history took dark turn when it became the site for London's public execution, where thousands of Londoners would take the day off from their jobs and lives to watch the criminals be hanged. Today nothing remains of the Tyburn Tree Gallows, but a stone marks the site on the traffic island at the junction of Edgware Road, Bayswater Road, and Park Lane._

What in the world could Sherlock Holmes be doing at a junction at three o'clock in the morning? She climbed out of bed begrudgingly and pulled on a sturdy pair of jeans and her rain coat. She could hear the pounding of rain on the windows and was already hating Sherlock Holmes all over again.

Strangely, for such a busy intersection is was barren. Sherlock stood in the middle of the island staring down at the man cover sized marker embedded into the concrete.

"What in god's name are we doing here Sherlock?"

"It's quiet." He said taking in a deep breath.

"It's three o'clock in the morning! Of course it's quiet! Everyone's asleep!" Carrie replied laughing. He looked over at her with a small smile.

"I knew you would enjoy it."

"It is rather nice. No street performers, no screaming cabbies, no horns honking, and people cussing each other out."

"Mmm. London." Sherlock said looking up at the sky.

"Are you thinking?"

"Thinking?"

"Yes, you have that face on as if you are thinking about something."

"I'm always thinking Carrie."

"Sherlock... you know what I mean."

"Indeed I am... rather puzzling case has shown up at my doorstep and it's rather odd... and that's something that doesn't happen to often."

"What's going on?" She asked.

"Women."

"Women?"

"Yes, just disappearing into thin air."

"Like kidnapped?"

"Well, to e kidnapped that would requier a kidnapper, and from the scenes there isn't a sign of any kidnappers lurking about." Sherlock said a wrinkle forming on his brow.

"But that's impossible."

"Exactly."

"Well, you must be missing something!" She insisted. Sherlock turned to her with a daring grin.

"I do not miss anything."

She stared at him under the streetlight. He was beautiful, every time he looked at her that's all she could think. His high cheekbones gave him a distinguished look, and set with his deep and knowledgeable eyes, he became unstoppable.

"Why did you call me here?" She asked suddenly as he looked away from her, shadows now consuming the beauty once more.

"I'm warning you Carrie."

"Why? What does the case have to do with me?" She asked.

"The women were all connected." Sherlock said softly.

"Connected?"

"Yes connected! Why does everyone do that?"

"Sherlock, just tell me!" She argued.

"With me." He murmured.

"You mean because we are friends, I'm at risk?"

"I mean because we are friends, you are next." He replied softly, his eyes turning to her, sad.


	3. Chapter 3

Something woke Carrie from her sleep, a loud screeching could be heard outside her basement flat window. Instantly her internal alarms began to sound off when she heard the soft tinkle of glass breaking. She leaped from her bed and climbed into the back of the wardrobe, cellphone in hand. She dialed the number Sherlock had given to her for the police stationed outside her house.

"Pick up, pick up, pick up." She murmured to herself. The phone just continued to ring and ring. She could feel the walls of the small wardrobe closing in around her. Her chest began to ache and she was panicking. Where were the police? She hung up and dialed Sherlock. He answered on the first ring.

"What?"

"Sherlock.. they... they're here." She whispered voice breaking with emotion.

"WHO?" He said through the phone. She could hear the sound of doors opening in the apartment. There was the sound of more glass shattering.

"Come out come out where ever you are!" A voice called out chuckling.

"I don't know... Sherlock, the police aren't answering... Sherlock I'm scared." She said tears now streaming down her face.

"HOW DID THEY GET IN? LESTRADE IS SUPPOSED TO BE ON GUARD!" Sherlock shouted through the phone.

"Sherlock..." She cried almost silently.

"Listen to me Carrie. Listen carefully." He was cut off when the doors of the wardrobe flew open and Carrie let out a scream.

A large hunkering figure stood in the doorway, blocking the only light. She screamed as the man grabbed her arms forcefully and ripped her from the wardrobe.

"SHERLOCK!" She screamed crying as the man carried her away. She kicked and punched reaching out for the dropped cell phone. She pulled on his hair and clothing hoping to rip a piece of anything off to leave behind for Sherlock. If she could leave a trail, he could find her. He was her only hope.

"Holmes can't help you now sweetheart." The man laughed smashing the cell phone, severing all connection she had with help. She watched in horror as the man pulled a canvas bag from his bag pocket and put it over her head. She screamed as he bound her hands until the thug had enough. She cried out in pain and shock as the man gave her a blunt blow to the head, and everything went completely dark and silent.

Meanwhile across London Sherlock paced inside 221b.

"CARRIE!" He screamed into the cell phone. There was no reply except for her horrific bloodcurdling screams. He screamed out in anger as the line went dead. What had he done? What had he got that poor girl into? He screamed and threw his phone at the wall and watched as it shattered like glass.

John had ran into the room while he had been screaming for Carrie. Sherlock put his hands into his curly hair and pulled back on his skin. THINK THINK! What do they want? Why are they doing this? Who is doing this?

"What happened?" John dared to ask softly.

"They have Carrie." Sherlock said pitifully rubbing his eyes.

"How? Lestrade..."

"OBVIOUSLY HE WASN'T DOING HIS JOB JOHN!" Sherlock bellowed. He let out a huff and began pacing the room.

"Should we go?"

"Why John! By the time we would arrive she will be gone. They leave no trace of themselves. It's as if they hire a maid to go in and clean up after them seconds after leaving. By the time we got over there any traces will be gone." Sherlock sighed. John leaned up against the wall in shock over the reaction Sherlock was giving. Sure he was upset over the kidnapping of Carrie, but Sherlock seemed devistated, something that normally didn't happen.

"Sherlock... I know this might be a bad time to ask right now, but you didn't react this way when you found out about Irene going missing, or that girlfriend of Mycrofts from when you were kids. What's different?" John asked softly, knowing full well what was different. Sherlock had begun to feel, emotions and expressed emotions over a woman.

"John," Sherlock sighed looking up at his friend, "I promised her. I swore to her I would keep her safe. I broke that promise. I broke the only promise I've ever made that I intended to keep." Sherlock whispered. John watched as a solitary tear escaped from his sad eyes.

The only promise he intended to keep.

Sherlock stared up at the ceiling, laying on top of Carrie's bedcovers thinking of possiblities. Why couldn't he think!? Why couldn't his mind work? He sat up and lifted his sleeves, ripping of the nicotine patches he had been applying like clockwork, exchanging them for fresh ones.

"THINK SHERLOCK!" He yelled. He rubbed his face and stared down at the floorboards. Where was she? Was she hurt? Cold? Hungry? God, she must be terrified. It's all my fault. Sherlock repeated in his mind. He glanced at the wardrobe, open a crack and stood up. Funny a woman who likes everything precisely in it's place would leave a wardrobe open. Sherlock peered down at the handle, which was loose, freshly scratched wood around the screw.

"She hid in the wardrobe." Sherlock whispered opening the door slowly. There was a flutter of dresses and nightshirts as the door swung open. He blushed at the thought of rummaging through a woman's personal wardrobe but seen no other choice. He got down on his hands and knees and peered into the cupboard. It was bare, save the loose handle and scratched wood. Someone had cleaned the place of fuzz, dust, and anything else that would have been left behind or commonly found in a wardrobe. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh as he stood back up and walked to the window.

Since Carrie lived in a basement flat his view out the window was level with the alley behind the building. There was no sign of forced entry, or break in. It appeared as if whoever had came in, walked right through the front door with a welcome and an invitation. Sherlock sighed and sat down on the floor, perhaps a different vantage point.

He stared at the room around him, so much like his back in Bakers Street. She had everything the way she liked it, perfectly placed and neat.

"Anything out of order, slightly turned, out of line, misplaced." He whispered eyes scanning the room. Not a single trace. He had just decided to get up and join John outside when something black caught his eye under the bed. It was a small book.

"Hello." Sherlock whispered reaching under the bed and grabbing the novel. He was surprised to discover it was a diary. "Under the bed? When everything else is tucked away neatly. Tossed aside like it wasn't important. A diary isn't something someone would leave laying around to find." He whispered. Dare he? He had already gone through a woman's wardrobe today, and now this, a person diary containing her thoughts... I doubt she had time to stop the attack and put in a littl diary entry.

July 20, 2013

Dear Diary,

Was kidnapped today by and enemy of Sherlock's * frowny face *

Sherlock ran his thumb over the leaver cover, tempted to peer at the last page just to see the date of the entry. She sighed and cracked open the book. A paper fluttered to the floor, but for the moment his eyes stared down at the page. It wasn't a diary. It was a sketch book. On the last page with the date of July 18th was a beautiful portrait of Sherlock. He stared at the book surprised at the accuracy and talent of her hand. More incredibly it wasn't in pencil, but drawn in blue ink.

_" He could clearly see the pen marks on her right hand, the smudge of ink along the outside of her palm. Right handed, and working on a project. Blue ink."_ He remembered saying while sitting in his own living room. He flipped the pages, but alas the rest was in black ink or pencil. She had been drawing him from the encounter they had, where he had been most rude. He dropped the book on the floor, his heart feeling heavier than it had when he began his search.

These emotions fogging his mind, and his sight weren't familiar to him. They were strange and new. He felt anger, remorse, vengeful. He wasn't feeling himself. He backed up from the book as if it held the key to these emotions and his hand settled upon the bit of paper that slipped out of the book when opened.

Written in red ink, and in a handwriting all too familiar than his own, was a few simple words.

Catch me if you can, Sherlock.

In the center of the O in Sherlock's name was a smiley face. It was then Sherlock Holmes knew who he was up against.


	4. Chapter 4

When Carrie woke her head was throbbing with pain and her vision was blurred. She could hear voices chatting behind her and they seemed to be echoing but she couldn't tell where she was.

"Oh look who's awake! Hello darling!" A voice said. Oddly the voice did not match the man she pictured whom was behind this in her mind. The voice sounded friendly, almost as if they were old friends chatting over evening tea. He was rather strange however, his voice liked to pitch and raise octaves on a whim but he seemed like the kind of man whom lived next door to you, and waved hello when you passed.

"Sherlock..." She said dazed by her injury. The brute who had attacked her had been successful in silencing her, but also in giving her a mild concussion.

"Shh... we won't talk about him will we? He's not very reliable that one. I mean, look where you are. Not that I would complain, these are very comfortable lodgings when you are... not captive..." The man said walking around the side of the chair Carrie was strapped into. She smiled and looked at the scrawny man.

"Sherlock will find me."

"Oh honey, if there's one thing you should know about Sherlock Holmes and I, is that we go back a long long way, and he never has yet to have the upper hand on me." He said leaning down, resting his hands on the arms of the chair, his deep and threatening eyes baring deep into Carrie's. She looked away first putting a large smile on the sadistic man's hauntingly beautiful face.

He was indeed just like the man whom lived next door. You never noticed him in a crowd, he was too small and peculiar. His face was as described earlier hauntingly beautiful, in a hallowed out and dark manner, that made Sherlock Holmes's shadows appear to be a beautiful sunny day. But it was the dark eyes that disturbed people. On the outside he was the typical British man, but in the set of his glare, behind his pupils screamed despair, evil, cold darkness, and deep black loneliness that not even a world full of people could fix. Hidden behind his sarcasm and snark was a scared child, screaming for attention, screaming for the right to be recognized as a true genius. His dark brown hair that was combed back into a perfect gelled style, with not one hair out of place, along with the fine crafted suit and tie, made him appear a business man whom had taken up the profession of murder. Carrie swallowed back her fear. Never show them fear. He laughed as Carrie stared him down.

"Ah, I like you." He said backing up from the chair, pointing a long boney finger at her.

"Can't say I feel the same." She replied.

"Oh, but you've yet to get to know me! See, I'm different from your boy toy sweetheart." He said drawing up a chair and sitting on it backward, elbows resting along the back. "We are alike, in most ways, passionate and observant, but in all things I am better than Sherlock Holmes." He said winking suggestively. Carrie's throat began to tighten. "I'm sorry, that was rude to get your hopes up." He grinned, "Red heads... not really my type." He whispered leaning in. Carrie looked away from him, disgusted by his words. He let out a light tinkling laugh. "Oh this is fun."

"You are a pig."

"Oink oink darling, oink oink." He whispered.

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" She asked loudly tugging on the straps holding her down.

"Whoa there, we've only just begun, no use fighting it now! I suppose I may tell you my name since we will be spending quite some time together over the next few days. We'll be the best of friends, we can tell secrets and braid each others hair... talk about _boys_." He said evilly. What was this guy on?

"Please just let me go. I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Well, I will tell you if you would let me speak!" The man screamed, echoing in the large room. Carrie let out a choked sob at the harsh voice. "There, I am Jim Moriarty, and like I said before, a friend of Sherlock's."

"A friend?"

"Well... more like... an enemy... arch-enemy. Funny when you say it out loud..." He said frowning.

"Why?"

"Long story my dear, long story." he chuckled resting his chin on his folded hands, "What I will tell you is why you are here. You are here because you have something that I need."

"I have nothing!" Carrie argued.

"Oh but you do." Moriarty laughed, "Oh but you do, and you don't know it yet. I don't even know if Sherlock knows it yet. I bet he's coming to terms with it about now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you think it's strange how I've kidnapped eleven women... all from Sherlock's life. Various women from his childhood nanny to a dominatrix, and yet... he never thought to warn the next likely victim." Moriarty said eyes flashing with mischief, "_except you._"

"It mean's nothing. We've just met!" Carrie argued shocked by his idea.

"Oh is that so? So you're telling me that Sherlock never warned you about this? Never once called you in the middle of the night to meet him _alone_. Oh you scandalous thing you. You've had the most amazing hold over a man and you haven't even known it."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"You've made a man of no emotions _FEEL_." Moriarty spat at her, "The demise of Sherlock Holmes would never be about out smarting each other, or slipping a simple poison into his cuppa in the morning! Where is the fun in that my dear? Where is the torture? Where is the pain?" he yelled standing from his seat. Carrie remained silent but watched as he paced in front of her.

"He loves me." She whispered.

"Oh yes," Moriarty chuckled, "_SURPRISE_! It's rather unfortunate really, you've grown on me, and it will be sad to watch the man you love consume himself. Ah-ha yes see I won't raise a finger. He'll do the work all on his own."

"He's smarter than that." Carrie replied.

"We shall see." Moriarty whispered, "We shall see."

Sherlock sat in his leather chair back in 221b Baker's Street, unaware of what Carrie was experiencing at the moment, but knowing the potential of what she could be going through. He pulled his feet up under him, crouching. He liked to sit this way with his arms round his knees, it helped him think.

"Sherlock! Molly's here!" Mrs. Hudson cheered from outside the door.

"GO AWAY!"

"It's important!" Molly yelled. Sherlock let out a low growl and walked over to the door in one step. He opened the door enough for him to look out.

"What?" He snapped.

"I had a funny looking man come up to me this morning and hand me this." Molly said handing Sherlock an envelope. Sherlock looked down at the manilla colored envelope and his suspicions had been correct.

"Molly come in." He said softly walking away from the door. He ripped open the envleope carefully. Inside was a slip of paper and a lock of hair. "Damn it." He whispered staring down at the bright red lock. It was Carrie's ginger hair.

"What is it?" Molly asked.

"Carrie's hair."

"WHAT?!" Molly asked shoving Sherlock's hand away and grabbing the lock of hair. "What is she sending you her hair for?!"

"She isn't. She's been taken."

"Taken?"

"Yes Molly, must I repeat myself?"

"Well excuse me, my best friend's missing, you get a lock of her hair, and I'm a bit testy today so if you don't mind, EXPLAIN." Molly said face turning red, it felt good to release her pent up anger. She was however mortified she just yelled at her true love like that two minutes later.

"She was taken by a man, and I'm getting her back. That's it, all you need to know." He said unfolding the sheet of paper.

Sherlock,

I do apologize for not delivering this myself, but someone must keep an eye on our most prized guest shouldn't we? She's a rather pretty little thing isn't she! You've got four days Sherlock. Tick tock, tick tock, Sherlock, tick tock BOOM.

J.M.

In the envelope collected like dust at the bottom was gunpowder.

"Is that what I think that is?" Molly asked as Sherlock dumped some onto his hand.

"Molly could you _PLEASE_ go!" Sherlock asked. Molly huffed and shook her head at him.

"I don't understand you Sherlock. She's my friend, they chose me to deliver the message, and I'm only wanting to find her." Molly whispered before walking out the door.

"Molly!" Sherlock called out.

"What?" She asked.

"What did they look like, the man who gave you this? Where were you?" Sherlock asked.

"Outside that small art gallery on Whipple. Why? What does it matter where? The guy was big and fat, there was a bald patch on the side of his head like someone had shaved it." Molly continued to give a very detailed description of the man. Sherlock sat staring down at the floor thinking.

Molly was given a letter outside an art gallery, a note was found in Carrie's art journal, Irene was kidnapped in front of a statue near the palace, and Georgiana was in the middle of a painting class when she got a mysterious phone call.

"She's somewhere with art, it's a museum, or a gallery."

"Oh well that's perfect since there's about a thousand art galleries in London, not to mention the museums."

"I know that Molly." Sherlock snapped.

"I'm leaving."

Sherlock sat on the window sill staring out the glass. The streetlights turned on, illuminating the darkened road. Four days to find her...


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock walked quietly around Carrie's flat checking for things he missed last time. There wasn't anything from what he could see. Nothing had changed. It was as spotless as it was when he arrived. So maybe it wasn't because he felt like he was missing something that he was here, maybe he just felt like he had to be here. Like she would walk through the front door any minute and would be fine.  
He walked over to her large bookcase and stared at the titles. There was a large red scrapbook at the end of the top shelf and before he could stop himself he took the book off the shelf. He flipped the pages opened and smiled shaking his head. Drawings of him in the kitchen, John standing on that chair piss drunk like a madman, people in the park, and everything she seemed to see. He stopped and glanced at the titles of each page. He reached the last page and stopped staring himself dead in the eyes. The page was entitled, Sherlock Holmes, the man of many wonders.  
He hoped she would still think so after all this.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Moriarty asked from the kitchen. He poked his head back into the room staring at Carrie. Carrie glared at him and shook her head. He shrugged and whistled as he pottered around in the kitchen. She struggled against the restraints binding her to the chair, but it was useless, she was stuck. She wished Sherlock would hurry up and find the clues she left behind. Had he found the hair? Any of the kick marks she left on the wall? The ring she pulled off in the alley? Surely he was coming for her. He was coming for her.  
"Why won't you just let me go?" Carrie cried finally.  
"Because my dear, I need you." Moriarty said walking back into the room carrying a plate of cheeses. He took a bite out of a white cheese and gagged spitting it back out into a napkin.  
"Oh god that was awful, do excuse me, I'm so sorry."  
"Can you at least let me out of these ropes? They hurt!" She asked.  
"Nope, you're a fiesty little devil, I don't doubt you'd try something."  
"Please..."  
"No."  
"I won't—."  
"NO!"

After watching reruns of Britain's Got Talent Moriarty dozed off on the couch. Carrie silently began scooting the chair farther from him and closer to the cell phone that laid on the table. If she could just text Sherlock he could trace the number and get the location. She reached out silently and felt relief as her sore fingertips grabbed onto the small phone. Moriarty let out a snore as he rolled over facing away from her. She quickly punched his number in from memory. She felt around the phone's buttons, thanking heavens Moriarty hadn't used a smart phone. She quickly text him SEND HELP. TRACE NUMBER. MORIARTY. CARRIE. PLEASE. And quickly hit send before Moriarty woke. She glanced over her shoulder and quickly deleted the message from the phone's sent box and waited. Sherlock would find her. And wouldn't Moriarty be surprised when he did.

Sherlock's phone buzzed on the bed covers beside him. He turned to the next page of the sketch book in Carrie's room. He lifted the cellphone idly and silenced it. A word caught his eye however and he opened the message. SEND HELP. TRACE NUMBER. MORIARTY. CARRIE. PLEASE. That girl, that clever clever girl! Sherlock leaped off the bed and ran out into the dark London night. His coat flapped behind him as he ran for the police station, knowing just the man who could help him trace this number.

"She's just sent it to me."  
"It's coming from a small location near the Thames, art district it looks like." Lestrade whispered as they stared at the dot on the screen of the GPS. Sherlock could feel it in his bones. He was there and they were going to get him.

"SHE TEXTED HIM!"  
"THAT BITCH!"  
"HOW COULD YOU LEAVE HER OUT OF YOUR SIGHT!"  
"I WAS ASLEEP! HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THIS. WE SIMPLY WILL MOVE. WE ARE NOT READY."  
"I say we ditch her."  
"Leave her?"  
"Kill her."  
"We can't kill her."  
"WHY NOT!?"  
"Because you idiot. She's our only connection."  
There was a loud smack as a hand collided with Carrie's face. Her chair tipped backwards and she landed on the ground sobbing in pain. Blood was rushing from a cut above her eyebrow, and a busted lip.  
"Sherlock Holmes is on his way. We need to go." The fat man whom kidnapped her growled.  
"Fine, but let me use the back up before we go." Moriarty smiled evily.  
"Fine. Just don't blow us all up."  
"Good."

Sherlock leaped from the SUV, gun in hand as he ran into the art gallery. The lights were off, and no one was in sight. He could however hear music coming from the basement. He tore down the stairs silently. There was a door at the end of the stairs with light pouring out from under the crack. He's got them. He kicked the door open to find a simple room with a record player. There in the middle of the room was a chair with Carrie strapped to it. She let out a scream when he walked into the room. Strapped to the legs of the chair was explosives. Set to go off in five minutes.  
"Sherlock you have to get out of here." She sobbed as he ran over to her.  
"I'm going to get you out. Can you walk?"  
"I can't leave Sherlock. If I get up this whole place blows. It's not just time set it's pressurized. I can't get up or it will go off." She whispered as he cut her hands free. He looked up at her shocked and put his hands up.  
"We'll fix it. I'll dearm it." He whispered getting low to the floor.  
"There's no use Sherlock."  
"Yes there always is a way!" Sherlock yelled.  
"No! You need to leave! Get out!" She sobbed.  
"I'm not going to leave you here to die. I promised you."  
"And you kept your promise Sherlock. You'd kept your promise no matter what but I want you to leave." She said reaching out and grabbing his scarf. He stared up at her. "We don't have much time, but I'm not important Sherlock. You've got to be here to stop this man. Only you can do it. I'm not worth the world burning at that man's hands." She whispered tears falling onto Sherlock's cold hands.  
"Don't you dare say that." Sherlock said looking at her tears in his eyes.  
"I'm telling you Sherlock, go, please."  
"You're important Carrie. You'll always be important which is why I'm not leaving you here." Sherlock whispered taking her hands in his.  
"Sherlock please don't... Don't please." She screamed. She felt her chest beginning to burst from sobbing. Sherlock put his hands on her face and pulled her forehead to his lips.  
"I... I can't leave you."  
"Sherlock..." She screamed into his shoulder as the bomb beneath her chair ticked into it's final minute. He put his hands in her hair and held her tight to him."Sherlock," She whispered into his neck.  
"I... I have this feeling for you Carrie." Sherlock said softly. "I feel something I've never felt before. I love you Carrie."  
"No, Sherlock, you have to leave me. Please. If you love me then you know why I want you to leave right now. I love you Sherlock, but both of us blowing up together is no use." She sobbed. He kissed her, wiping away her tears.  
"I'm going to pull you off the chair. Ready?" He whispered between kissing her.  
"No."  
"Yes."


	6. Chapter 6

Dying is such wonderful experience, dying in the arms of the man you love, quick and painless. A blessing almost. Sherlock pulled her from that chair and in a matter of milliseconds the bomb detonated. Lestrade watched in horror from outside the building as the place went up in a fire ball. He screamed for Sherlock, but of course there was no answer. He had seen the last of Sherlock Holmes.

A few days later there was a woman and man checked into the city hospital. Turns out, Lestrade hadn't seen the last of Sherlock Holmes.


	7. Chapter 7

Carrie opened her eyes as a nurse adjusted the oxygen tube in her nose. She coughed as her throat felt like she had swallowed an angry porcupine. She looked around trying desperately to remember what happened. She tried to speak but no sound came out. She watched as the nurse walked out, never noticing her patient had woke from her sleep.

"You're in the hospital." There was a soft voice beside her bed. She turned her head in the direction of the voice and burst into tears. Sherlock smiled over at her from his chair beside the bed. She reached through the bars surrounding her and he took her hand.

"What happened?" She asked softly and hoarse.

"The bomb, went off... it delayed, giving me time to pitch open the trap door Moriarty used to escape the tunnel without being seen, and get down somewhat in time, you were a bit... singed..." He said smiling. She looked down at her body, her one leg was covered in burns, but they would heal.

"You saved me." She whispered crying. Sherlock shook his head slowly.

"You wouldn't of been there if it hadn't been for me."

She grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer. She shook her head, her voice to tired to speak any more. He smiled small as she lowered the sidebar. He sat down beside her and she rolled on her side to put her head on his chest. He kissed her forehead and stared down at the woman who'd changed his life. What was he to become now? A crime fiction novelist, demoted from his work, like John did when ever he was tied to a woman? Carrie grabbed his hand and he realized incredibly that... he didn't care.


End file.
